


We Keep this Town Clean

by JsPrincess



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, Happy to the rescue, Hospital, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JsPrincess/pseuds/JsPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're beaten and thrown from your boyfriend's car, and Happy witnesses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Keep this Town Clean

“Hey! Hey!” you hear a gravely voice shout as a sharp sting spreads across your cheek. You groaned and tried to sit up, but strong hands held you down.

“Be still,” the gruff voice commanded. “You’re bleedin all over the place.Ambulance is on the way.”

He was quiet, but you knew he was there because you could hear the scuff of his heavy boots as he paced beside you. You heard a phone ring and he answered it, speaking low before he snapped it shut. “That was my brothers, I saw the guy speeding out of here and they’re on his tail. We don't tolerate abusers in our town,” he assured you. You weren't sure if he was a cop, which you doubted, or a vigilante of some sort, or something entirely different, but you couldn't help but feel relief at his words. 

You heard the ambulance screaming in the distance and the rough voiced stranger told you that he was going to the end of the alley to flag them down. You heard his footsteps move away, leaving you nothing but the pain to focus on, and it was overwhelming. You cried out in agony as you tried to take a deep breath but couldn't. Your head was throbbing and you felt like you might be sick. your entire body hurt and any twitch of muscle or movement of your body only made it worse. 

You heard three sets of feet rushing towards you, one of them wearing heavy boots. “I was riding by when some guy dumped her out of a car,” you heard your savior explain. You didn't hear anything else as the paramedics had quickly assessed you and were trying to slide a backboard underneath you. When they rolled you to your side, you cried out in pain and the world went black. 

When you woke up, you barely felt anything at all. Your eyes wouldn't quite open, still heavy with medication, but you could wiggle your toes, so you knew that was a good sign. You could feel someone watching you, but they barely made a sound, which was a little unnerving. Slowly you woke more, and were able to open your eyes. Sitting in the chair beside your bed was a heavily tattooed, bald man, wearing a leather vest. His black eyes were focused on your face, and he made a noise that resembled a grunt when your eyes opened. 

“Ain’t caught him yet,” he spoke. “pres wants me here in case he shows up.” 

“Who are you,” you whisper.

“Happy,” he answers, not seeming to enjoy talking much. 

You continue to ask questions and get all answers from him. You learn that he is a member of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club and that Sons don't appreciate men who beat on women. 

“ F/N L/N,” you tell him once you're satisfied that your questions have been answered. 

The doctor chose that moment to enter the room, and rolled his eyes when he saw Happy. “Fall down another flight of stairs Ms. L/N,” he asked, not even attempting to hide his sarcasm.

“Hey,” Happy barked. “Be respectful to the lady. I watched her get thrown out of a moving vehicle this morning.” 

The doctor didn't look the least bit scared of the tattooed biker, which I thought was dumb, as he rolled his eyes and continued talking, ‘You have six broken ribs, a punctured lung and we had to remove your spleen because it burst. Your collarbone is broken, as well as your left arm, which is why we have your arm cast the way it is, so your collar bone can heal. You have a severe concussion and both of your legs have several stitched cuts, 42 stitches in total. You have 16 stitches in your face and two black eyes. Do you have any questions for me?” 

You shook your head, but Happy spoke up. “When can she go home? We’re trying to find the asshole that did this to her and we need to keep an eye on her.” 

“You’ll have to ‘keep an eye on her’ right here for at least two days,” the doctor said as he stepped out of the room. 

“That guy's a prick,” the biker,mentioned as he paced the room.

“He thinks you're the one who did this. This isn't the first time I've been here lookin like this, this is just the worst. He probably thinks you're the one who's been doing this the whole time,” You say softly.

Happy looked up at you, his face blank, “This isn't the first time,” he asked gruffly. When you shake your head, he asks “What’s your address?” You give it to him and he steps outside to make a phone call. 

When he comes back in, he explains that he just sent the guys to your house, to get all of your things because you aren't going back there with that asshole. You tell him about the box of pictures you have hidden in the crawlspace, and he calls someone and tells them about it, before settling back in the chair beside your bed. 

“Where are they going to put my stuff,” you ask suddenly. “I’m going to be homeless with a bunch of stuff.”

Happy tells you to relax, “I told them to put your shit at my place. I never go there anyway. It's got a spare room where they can stack your shit.”  
The look on my face must have given my thoughts away, “I ain't moving you in. I ain't plannin on takin advantage. Sons keep this town clean, and beaten on women and tryin to kill ‘em ain't clean. We’ll get you sorted out and I’ll be on my way.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“You got the right to be suspicious. Most people think I'm a scary mother fucker and you've been through a lot of shit,” Happy answers, dismissing your apology. 

Happy’s phone rang and he stepped outside to answer it, but quickly came back in. “The guys want to know if you want this prick arrested or if you want the club to handle it,” he asked you. 

Your eyes widened, “You guys don't have to…” you began before Happy cut you off.

“Handle that fucker,” he growled into the phone before snapping it closed. 

You started to protest, but Happy shook his head. He sat back in the chair and asked what you wanted to eat. When you looked at him oddly, he shrugged. “Hospital food sucks. Gemma’s bringing food from the diner,” he explained.

“”I don't know what I can eat,” you answered hesitantly. 

He told you he would let Gemma pick, and flipped his phone open to send a text. 

A nurse came in to change your bandages, but Happy didn't leave the room. He turned his back to you and looked out the window until you were back under the covers, laying on your side. “You can sit back down Happy,” you told him, gratefully taking the pills the nurse handed you. 

As the nurse left the room, a tall, thin woman with dark brown hair streaked with blonde, walked into the room. She was carrying a plastic bag that looked like it was stuffed full. “Hey Gem,” Happy greeted as he took the back from her. “This is F/N,” he introduced. 

“Hi baby,” she said, coming over to kissyou on the cheek. “How you feelin?”

“Like I got shoved out of a moving vehicle,” you joked feebly, taking the cup of soup that Happy handed you. He laid some crackers on the table beside me, and Gemma slid the table over the bed so that you could sit the soup down. “Thank you for this,” you told Gemma. 

“No thanks needed honey, we take care of this town,” she echoed Happy’s earlier sentiment. 

Two days later they released you from the hospital, but Gemma had insisted you stay at the clubhouse, so that she could help keep an eye on you. You were in no shape to argue with the formidable woman, so you just went along for the ride. 

Happy rode in front of Gemma’s car and two men you didn't know rode behind, escorting the black SUV back to the Teller-Morrow lot and SAMCRO clubhouse. By the time Gemma had the car in park, Happy was at the passenger side, opening your door and helping you down. Two men walked up behind him, one with piercing blue eyes and black curly hair, the other had dark brown hair streaked with gray and a scar on each side of his face, that went from the corners of his mouth to nearly his ears. “Tig, Chibs,” Happy said, pointing to each man, who nodded at you, and they led you inside. 

The clubhouse was a little stereotypical, a bar on one side with probably fifty bottles of liquor behind it, and a jukebox in the corner. There were pictures of motorcycles and the SAMCRO logo everywhere. The wall of mugshots made you snort, which in turn made you gasp as the movement jarred your ribs. 

“You ok,” Happy asked.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. 

Happy didn't look convinced but he nodded and left it at that. You were thankful he didn't push you for a different answer. You were beginning to think he was a little over protective, but for some reason you didn't mind it too much. 

“You’re staying in my room,” Happy’s gruff voice brought me out of my thoughts. “You'll take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You started to protest, not wanting to put him out any further, but he cut you off with a grunt and a look that said you wouldn't be winning the argument, so you shut your mouth and followed him into the room he’d unlocked. He handed you your own key as you looked around. There was a poster of a naked woman, and two Harley Davidson posters decorating the walls. The bedding was black and there were black blinds covering the windows. It was very much a man’s room, but it was very clean. 

“I don't like mess, but I don't expect you to clean or anything. Just throw your dirty stuff in the hamper and one of the girls will wash it with mine,” Happy told you.

You nodded and sat down on the bed, feeling drained. Happy must have noticed because he told you to rest, that he would be down the hall at the bar.  
Happy woke you a few hours later for dinner, and that was basically how you spent the next three weeks. You took your pain pills and slept a lot. Happy woke you for meals and to get up and exercise a little, to keep your muscles from getting stiff. After three weeks, the worst of the pain had subsided and you were able to stay awake most of the day, and had ventured out of Happy’s room several times. 

It was one of these late night trips to the bar where you slipped in someone's spilled beer and twisted your stupid ankle. Happy was there before you could hit the floor, and he scooped you into his arms, carrying you back to his room, leaving a few slack jawed prospects and brothers in his wake.

After he had settled you on the bed and got a bag of ice for your ankle, he stood beside the bed, looking at you, confusion deep in his eyes. 

“What is it Hap,” you finally asked. 

“Don't know,” he replied. “Never cared about anyone besides my Ma before.” 

You gave a little smile, reaching out for his hand and pulling him down on the bed beside you. “Kiss me Happy,” you requested. You had admitted your attraction to the bad boy with a secret soft side only a few days ago, and only to yourself.

When his lips found yours they were warm and soft. The gentleness of the kiss sent waves of warmth to your heart, and when he pulled back, you were a little breathless. “Wow,” you whispered. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. 

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend,” you said, breaking the silence with a small giggle. 

He gave me a look before he reached down and removed the ice from my ankle, so that it didn't damage my skin. I watched him strip down to his boxers before looking at me and saying, “Shut up and move over woman.” It seemed like a callous thing to say, but I could hear the warmth and affection in his voice. 

When he climbed into bed with me, he pulled my back against his chest and buried his face in my hair, “Boyfriend,” he snorted. “I’m no little boy, baby, just wait until I can prove it.”


End file.
